The Way it Feels
by spikelives
Summary: This is the conclusion to what I'll call my Jim Croce Trilogy, lol. This picks up a few years after Learning to Take it Well. It's New Years Eve at Casey and Derek's house, and the gang's all there, or will be eventually. I think this fandom is kind of dead at this point, but any reviews will be appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So, this is nothing more than an exercise of sorts… I'm really just trying to force myself to write something again.

"Drop it, Venturi," Casey ordered, not even bothering to spare Derek a glance.

"But I'm hungry," he practically whined, hand still clutching the hot wing. He started to ask his wife how she had even known he was trying to liberate the wing from its spot on the platter in the first place, but then thought better of it. After this many years of marriage, it was time for him to accept that Casey simply had eyes in the back of her head.

"Too bad. So sad," she responded, back still turned to him, while she meticulously folded her mini chicken wraps with the type of concentration that one might devote to a particularly difficult origami project.

Derek sighed, but did as he was told.

"Well, if I can't eat yet, what am I supposed to do?"

"Here's a novel idea," she responded wryly, "why don't you, you know, actually _help_ me get everything ready?"

Casey couldn't see it, but Derek's eyes were rolling when he replied. "Everything like what? You've been at this _all_ day: cleaning this, cooking that. Other than your art project over there, what else could you possibly have left to do? Everything looks perfect," he said, voice genuine, if annoyed.

"Really?" She asked, sounding unsure as she finally turned to face him, "So, everything looks okay then?"

"Really," he assured her. "If Martha Stewart was still alive and kicking, she couldn't have done better herself."

Casey slid him a look at his choice of words, but did seem to relax a little if not completely.

"And you're not just doing the nice husband thing?"

 _Ummm no._ Top to bottom, bottom to top, their house was spotless, and there was enough food placed around the room to feed a small army. (And enough liquor to satisfy a small navy.) Derek was no expert, it really didn't take too much more than a couple of beers and some chips for him to consider a party to have been a success, but even he could see that as far as house party preparations went, it probably wasn't going to get any better than this.

"What's wrong, princess?" He asked, closing the distance between them and gently wrapping his arms around her waist.

Sure, Derek knew his wife was a tight ass by nature, but her overkill party prepping seemed a bit much, even for her.

"I don't know," Casey replied, not quite meeting his gaze. "I'm just nervous, I guess…"

Derek tilted his head at her, clearly waiting on her to continue, so she sighed and said, "Look, Sam's going to be here..."

"Okay," he drawled when she paused again.

"He's going to be here, and you're here, and even when you're both trying to be polite to each other, it's like the most awkward thing ever, so there's that," she said in a rush. "Plus, you know, ummm… everybody else will be here," she finished lamely, voice barely above a whisper.

Derek was just about to say something, but Casey let out a little self-deprecating laugh before he could even open his mouth.

"This seemed like a way better idea in theory than it does in execution."

There was quite possibly no greater testament to how much Derek loved his wife than the fact that he hadn't yelled, 'I told you so," the second she had stopped speaking.

Instead, he swallowed the words that were dying to get out of his mouth, and tried another, less combative, approach.

"Well, it's too late for second thoughts now," he replied, shrugging. "So, just try not to think about it – focus on something else."

"Really," she said, the word fairly dripping with sarcasm, as she took a pointed look around the room. "And just how am I supposed to do that?"

"Well," he began, tightening his hold on her and bringing her body flush against his own, "I can think of a couple of ways."

"No, Derek," she protested, but the words were practically whispered and sounded half-hearted at best.

When he leaned in to kiss her she made absolutely no move to stop him. In fact, the only action she did take was to wrap her own hands around his neck, effectively deepening their embrace.

Apparently, that was all the encouragement Derek needed. Never breaking their kiss, he picked his wife up and sat her on the counter in one swift motion.

"Derek," she more moaned than actually said. "We can't."

She still hadn't made any attempt to actually remove herself from his grasp though, so Derek ignored her, choosing instead to start working on the buttons of her blouse.

"People," she started, but paused for a minute when she felt her husband's hands make their way inside her shirt. "People will be here in like minutes," she finally managed to get out.

Still, there was no response from Derek. And, frankly, when she felt the first hook of her bra go, Casey was pretty much beyond the point of caring herself.

That is, until she heard the front door opening and a voice called out, "Knock, knock."

There was a horrible little moment where time seemed to actually stand still. Then,

"Oh, my God!"

That got a reaction – Casey immediately planted her hands on Derek's chest and pushed him off of her.

Eyes frantic, she lifted her gaze to her husband.

And almost slapped him. The idiot was grinning like a maniac.

"Well, damn," Derek said, followed by what almost sounded like a chuckle.

"Der-ek," she hissed, mortified. It was bad enough to be caught in a compromising position, but to have to be caught by _them_ – well, Casey would've literally rather died.

"Emily," Casey said, finally forcing herself to look past her husband and face the music. "I –

"No, no," Emily interrupted her, "no need to stop on our account." Her voice was so flat that Casey couldn't tell what was going through the woman's head.

Sam on the other hand, well, his expression was about as open as they come. He was standing behind his wife looking like he might vomit… or, maybe faint.

"Emily, Sam," Derek said, turning around to greet his company, but still managing to block the view of his wife who was frantically working to close her blouse. "Fancy meeting you here."

Casey could actually hear the smile in his voice, and had to summon every ounce of self-control she possessed to stop herself from kicking him.

"Der-ek," she snapped again. Then, "Emily, Sam, I'm so –

"You know," Emily said dryly, cutting her off again, "when I take a roll in the hay – or even on a _counter_ – with my husband, I _don't_ hang a sign on my front door inviting people to let themselves in."

Having finally managed to close the last of her buttons, Casey hoped off the counter as ladylike as she could manage and moved to stand by her husband, sending him a glare as she did so.

"See," she tried to explain again, "we didn't mean to –

"Put on a peep show?" Emily asked, interrupting once more, but this time her lips were twitching. "You're just lucky we didn't come across you guys while you were any… further along, or Sam might've turned your peep show into a snuff film."

That was it, Derek couldn't hold it in anymore, he fell out laughing.

Casey stared at him incredulously for a moment, but when she heard Emily laughing too, she refocused her attention on the couple at the door.

"So" she said slowly, sounding incredibly confused, "you're not mad?"

"Ummm… no," Emily said, giving Casey a look as she shrugged out of her coat. "Why would I be mad that you're making out with _your_ husband in _your_ own house?"

"Yeah, but…" Casey let her voice trail off.

"Come on," Emily said, grinning, "you know I had to mess with you a little."

Emily wasn't lying – she wasn't mad. In fact, this was just the sort of thing she had come to expect from Derek and Casey. Odd as it may sound, catching them going at it in the kitchen was not at all surprising to her.

That being said though, Emily wasn't exactly joking about the whole snuff film thing. She knew her husband – knew that Derek and Casey's house was about the last place on earth he wanted to be that night, or any other night for that matter. And, Emily knew without a doubt that Sam had taken the little Skinamax show they'd just walked in on personally. Not because he was jealous or still had feelings for Casey or anything like that, but because he would consider this an attempt by Derek to be funny, cute even. So, yeah, while Emily kind of found the whole thing funny, she didn't think for a second that Sam would be joining in the laughter.

"Well," Casey said, finally seeming to relax a little. "Thank goodness. Here, umm… let me take your coats," she offered, moving towards the couple.

Sam took one look at Casey's outstretched arm and made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a snort.

"I need a drink," he mumbled, before heading straight to a table that looked like it had every type of hard liquor known to man on it.

"Well, damn," Emily muttered, echoing Derek's earlier words, but this time nobody was laughing.

 **TBC…**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews. Any and all feedback is appreciated.

Nathan had been having an internal debate during the entire drive to his parents' house. To start an argument or to not start an argument – that was the question. It's not like he wanted to fight with Lauren, but, then again, he really didn't want to go to this party either. So, he figured, what the hell – why not give it one last shot, one last Hail Mary. Just like he always told his teammates in school: no guts, no glory.

"Baby," he began, voice deceptively casual.

"Hmmm," his wife responded absently, from the passenger seat of their SUV where she was diligently reapplying her lipstick.

Taking his eyes off the road, Nate stole a look at her and almost sighed. God, but she was gorgeous. Dressed to kill in a red dress he almost hadn't let her leave the house in, her curls piled on top of her head in a style that managed to somehow look messy and neat at the same time, and because of what he was about to say he was probably only going to get to look and not touch all night. What. A. Waste.

"What, Nate?" Lauren inquired, when he never continued.

Nate actually did sigh then, and after giving one last farewell look to her cleavage he asked, "Why don't we blow this thing off? We can go to the casino instead," he suggested hopefully, "or even a club."

"Oh, honey," she replied, laughing lightly. "Don't joke; you're bad at it."

"I wasn't joking," he mumbled under his breath.

It was Lauren's turn to sigh. "I know."

"Baby," he said, but she held up a hand to cut him off.

"No. I don't want to hear it. Not again."

"I. Don't. Want. To. Go," he bit out.

"Okay," she shrugged, "doesn't change the fact that we're still going."

When Nathan responded with a noise that fell somewhere between a growl and a grunt, Lauren finally shifted in her seat and gave her husband h er full attention.

"Alright, _baby_ ," she said, and it was obvious to Nate that the word was being used as an insult rather than a term of endearment. "You want to do this again? Fine. I'm game."

His eyes were rolling, but he didn't even try to speak.

"My mother-in-law, your _mother_ ," she said, pointing an accusing finger at him, "is throwing a family party. _AND_ since I'm the newest member of this family, a family I might add who have a very long and tempestuous relationship with my own family – who will also be there," she added with a shout, "nothing short of death would be able to keep us from this party."

Nate waved his hand dismissively. "Our families are totally cool now – friends even."

"That's right," she said, sarcastically. "Except, you know, those two guys you and I call 'dad' sometimes. And, really," she added, "it's not like my mother is besties with your father either. I mean, be for real, Nate – our mothers are friends, our brothers are friends, but my parents and your father… not so much."

"Okay, but –

"And," she kept going, "we're not even sure who else your mother invited to this thing. Casey is super friendly."

Almost too friendly, Lauren thought to herself. So, there was no telling just how many people from the respective Hatfield and McCoy camps the elder Mrs. Venturi had invited to this get together.

"It could be like our wedding receptions and come off without a hitch," she continued, "or it could be like my father and your mother's rehearsal dinner." Laughing humorlessly, she said, "You never know with our families. So, isn't it better if we're there to run interference?"

Lauren's question was clearly rhetorical, because she didn't even give Nate a chance to respond before she was talking again.

"And anyway, our families could get along like the Beatles did pre Yoko, and we would still be going because of your brother. You do remember him, right?"

"Yeah, Shawn, right?" he asked, sarcastically.

"He's your brother, Nate," she said, voice still heated but slightly less loud.

But it somehow managed to bother him more than the yelling had. "He's your brother, Nate," he mocked. "Yeah, I'm hip. In fact, if you recall," he went on sarcastically, "I was there the first fifty times you made this speech. 'Blah blah loyalty, blah blah family, blah blah respect, blah blah blah.'"

"Well," she snapped, eyes flashing. "If you heard me all those times, then why are you being such an Assy McAssy Pants about this? Was it really so awful of your brother to ask you to be there to have his back when he tells everyone about him and Mya?"

In a word: no. Nathan liked Mya and he loved his brother, it made zero difference to him if they dated each other, and Nathan had no problem offering the couple his support publically. And, that's why it was so hard for him to articulate to his wife just why exactly he didn't want to attend this party.

Nathan just couldn't shake this feeling he had that this wasn't going to be some simple family gathering, and Shawn wasn't going to just make some simple announcement. When his brother had called and practically begged him to come and support 'The Big Reveal' (as Shawn referred to it), the first anvil dropped for Nate. It was just weird. Shawn had been too nervous on the phone, too beggy. Why? It was their mother's party – why wouldn't Nate and Lauren be going? Why call to make sure they would be in attendance? And, all the nervousness was for what exactly? Sure, it might be a little awkward when their parents found out about Shawn and Mya, since Casey considered Mya to be more her friend than her children's, but Shawn's crush had always been so obvious and Mya wasn't really like his elder or anything, so how upset could Casey possibly be?

Nate didn't have anything concrete to go by, but it seemed to him that Shawn felt it was at least possible that Casey wouldn't be shipping Mawn – and that's why Nathan didn't want to go to this party. Cause if Mr. Happy Go Lucky himself was this nervous – this wound up – something else had to be going on… something that Nate wasn't itching to be a part of.

Hearing her husband sigh again, Lauren swallowed her own annoyance and decided to try another tactic.

"Remember when we set our fathers up at the diner?"

His nod was nearly imperceptible, but she saw it.

"Who was it that helped us?" She asked. "Who backed us up when we wanted to be together? When we," she paused, and grabbed his hand, "were scared that people wouldn't accept our relationship?"

"Your brother?" he joked half-heartedly, and his hand received a not-so-gentle squeeze for his efforts.

"Jeez, She Hulk," he complained, but returned the squeeze with a gentler one of his own. "Tony did help, but so did Shawn, and Mya, and a lot of people actually."

"And look how well that turned out," she responded, only to hear Nate laugh.

"Yeah, maybe our father will start slugging it out again tonight and bring everything full circle."

"Nathan," she said, giving him a look.

"Kidding."

Not kidding. So _not_ kidding. In fact, dead freaking serious. Lauren could act like things were about to be all sunshine lollipops and rainbows everywhere if she wanted to, but they both knew that having their two families and friends all in one place together was like playing soccer in a minefield. Sure, the night might end without incident, but there was also a very real chance that something explosive could happen. And if Shawn's announcement was anything but the chillest of chill then it could definitely destroy whatever already shaky balance their family had.

"So…" Lauren said, after a moment of silence, and when Nathan looked at her he saw that she was doing her whole Anime eyes/pouty lip tremble thing.

"So, stop," he replied, having resigned himself to his fate. "Just stop. We're going to the party. We _both_ know we're going to the part. _You_ knew we were going to the party the minute you _told_ me we were going to the party."

Annoyance laced his words, but the smirk on his face and his hand that had gone from holding her own to slowly making its way up her thigh told his true feelings.

"I had to give it one last try, but, really, when have I ever _not_ given you exactly what you wanted?"

Her answer was immediate. "Never."

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

"And there's nothing for me but, Mya," Shawn sang loudly, as he pulled onto the street of his childhood home. "Every sight that I see is Mya. Tonight, tonight, it all begins tonight!" He finished with a rising, if not entirely true to the actual tune, crescendo.

"Thank you, thank you," he said, sporting the type of grin even a gameshow host would've been ashamed to wear. "I'll be here all week, folks."

"You know," a long silent, and likely forgotten, Tony drawled from the passenger seat. "I've often been accused of having hothead tendencies," he paused, "people have said I leap—

' _You mean your fists leap,'_ Shawn thought, but had the sense to keep quiet since he knew that he'd been working his friend's nerves all day.

"—before I look," Tony continued. "I don't know though, given the fact that I managed not to drop kick your ass out this car twenty minutes and five show tunes ago, I'd say I have an incredible amount of self-control.

Tony had on his broody/Angel/CW show face, and it might've intimidated someone else, but Shawn just chuckled.

"Okay, so I know I've been—

"An insufferable ass?" Tony supplied helpfully, not even a trace of sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Well," Shawn laughed again, "I was gonna say I've been in rare form today."

"Rare form?" Tony practically sputtered. "The day you attempted to put on a one-man production of Everybody Has AIDS—

"Rent," Shawn corrected, trying and failing to smother his grin, but Tony soldiered on completely ignoring his friend.

"—while we were out with those twins. Those gymnast twins. Those very _hot_ gymnast twins!"

"Alright, angry folks, take a breath before your head explodes."

Tony did, but just barely. "No, you were in rare form _that_ day. Today you have been going for gold in the Annoying Olympics. I mean," Tony continued, sounding almost tired at this point, "you've been singing all damn day."

He sounded so depressed that Shawn gave up on holding anything again, and started laughing again.

"Not just your regular singing either," Tony said, clearly disgusted. After five years of friendship, he was well aware that Shawn found his constant moodiness downright hilarious, but that didn't make Shawn's laughter any less annoying. "But like a Mya tribute band. Every song, every _single_ song, tailor made by you with new Mya-centric lyrics. You've been waxing lyrical, fawning all over some chick, just like you were some… some… _chick!_ "

"Some chick," Shawn echoed, no longer sounding quite so amused. No, right then he sounded every inch the Venturi alpha male.

Shawn was too dramatic – his face far too expressive – to ever pull off that whole unreadable yet super intimidating face thing that his older brother and father were semi-famous for. But, still, the look he was wearing made it clear that under all the Broadway soundtracks and funny accents, Shawn wouldn't hesitate to defend and protect what was his.

"Mya's not some chick," he continued. "Mya's my girl – my _woman_ , and in a few hours she'll more than likely be my fiancé. So, in the future, I'd appreciate it if you showed her at least the same type of respect that I've showed every single _skank_ you paraded around our apartment these past two years!"

"Great. Wonderful even," Tony replied lazily, seemingly unfazed by the unsaid threat in Shawn's words.

And, really, he wasn't fazed. Why would he be? He and Shawn were buddies, roommates, "besties" even, to quote Lauren. They knew each other pretty well. So, Tony knew that Shawn knew he liked, and even more importantly, respected Mya. AND, he also knew that Shawn knew that he had heard his friend loud and clear – he wouldn't make the mistake of disrespecting Mya again, even as a joke.

"So, next time," Tony went on, "call Mya and sing to her for eight hours and leave me out of it."

"But why?" Shawn whined, twinkle back in his eye so fast you never would've known it left. "We're bosom buddies—

Tony damn near choked at that. "We're not bosom anything!"

"—amigos, super friends – if I can't sing to you, then who can I sing to?"

"Mya," Tony deadpanned.

Shawn waved his hand dismissively. "Pshaw."

The pshaw did it – Tony finally gave a genuine, if not entirely willing, grin.

"Mya has a lifetime of the Sweet Songs of Shawn to look forward to; my time with you is just a limited engagement," he said, giving a tiny bow.

"If she says yes," Tony couldn't stop himself from adding.

Shawn's eyes flashed – not with anger per se, but something more akin to fear… well, fear mingled with annoyance.

Deciding to play along, despite his better judgement, Shawn asked, "And why wouldn't she say yes?"

"Oh, I don't know," Tony began sarcastically, "maybe because Mya barely agreed to come tonight. Maybe because you had to freaking give her an ultimatum to get her to use this little family fun fest as your personal little 'coming out party,' he added, using air quotes.

"Yeah, but—

"So," Tony continued loudly, determined to try and get his point across one last time. The same point he had been trying his damnedest to drive home to his friend since Shawn had shown him the ring a month ago. "Maybe, _just_ maybe, tonight isn't the best night to propose."

"But I want to," Shawn responded, lamely.

"I know," Tony replied, voice considerably gentler. "Look, man," he cleared his throat, "I just don't want you to get hurt," he finished on a mumble.

"I won't," Shawn said, voice ringing with determination. "She's gonna say yes!"

Tony didn't exactly snort, but it was close.

"How can you possibly know that?"

"How can you not?" Shawn countered. "I mean, look around you," he said, gesturing to his parents' house, "there's proof pudding practically coming in through the windows, man."

"Huh?"

"There's something with our families – our _family_ ; we're like magic or something when it comes to stuff like this," he responded. "Come on, Tony, just look at our parents – they went from like sworn enemies to friends who spend holidays together."

"Yeah," Tony said sarcastically, "and it only took a couple of decades for them to all be able to stand the sight of each other. That's magic all right."

"Okay, but what about our siblings? Shawn shot back. "Nate? Lauren? You do remember them, right? One minute they're all Romeo and Juliet/Tristan and Isolde, all star-crossed and moody and primetime soapy – like the only thing missing was a power ballad; the next minute they're all Ashford and Simpson, making their own sweet music together."

"First off, gross," Tony said, sending Shawn a pained look. "Secondly, who are Ashford and Simpson?"

"You know," his voice was cajoling, "Ashford and Simpson." Tony just stared at him blankly. "Ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low enough," he started singing, but Tony cut him off.

"And he's singing again." Passing a cursory glance over his watch, he continued, "it only took all of five seconds."

"What can I say?" Shawn shrugged good naturedly. "I got the music in me."

"You don't have to tell me," Tony replied, sighing. "But –

"No, buts." It was Shawn's turn to interrupt. "Things are gonna work out for Mya and me, because people in our family _always_ get their happy endings. So, No. More. Buts. And, no more warnings," he said, the words coming out brisk and forceful, though not exactly angry. "Look," he paused a second, then: "You're pretty much my closest friend. I mean, at this point, we're practically brothers, family and stuff," he added, sounding almost shy for once. "So, I don't need you of all people trying to warn me off," he explained. "I need you to give me pep talks and, well, have my back in there in case things go south. Which they won't," he hastened to add.

That was the thing though – Tony was trying to be a friend, a brother even – hence the warnings. But if Shawn wanted him to be ridiculous and unrealistic instead, then he supposed he could do that.

"Fine," he said flatly, giving a little shrug.

"Okay… good then… uh great." Shawn was slightly thrown off by Tony's easy agreement, but he sounded a little more like his usual self. "So, let's go knock back a couple before my beautiful bride to be shows up."

Grunting in response, Tony pulled a face, but opened his door without further comment.

"Don't look so worried for me," Shawn said, as he followed him out the car and up to the front door. "She's going to say yes," he went on, grin firmly back in place as he opened the door to his parents' home. "Everything is going to be fine."

' _Famous last words,'_ Tony couldn't help but think as he trailed over the threshold after him.

 **TBC…**


End file.
